Hell's Interlude
by fleurx
Summary: Dean, a rebel-turned-violinist, is persuaded into attending a prestigious fine arts academy, where he dukes it out with the talented Castiel Novak for the title of valedictorian. He's never seen the guy before, but he knows he hates his guts- Until one day the two finally cross paths, and the events that follow will permanently change their lives. (Rated M for later chapters)
1. Overture

**Hell's Interlude**

**Disclaimer**: All characters, unless otherwise stated, in this fanfiction are not mine, and belong to their rightful owners. This is non-profit.

**Overall rating**: M (Vulgar/triggering material, sexual relations, angst, and strong language)

**This chapter's rating**:PG13 (Mild language)

**Author's note**: Hello! Nice of you to stumble in. I haven't written fanfiction in years, so bear with me as I attempt to string words together to do this ship some justice. I thought taking the usual highschool AU and twisting it into a twisted, pretentious fine arts academy would give this a subtle dash of creativty. (Unless it's already been done before. Sigh) Enjoy! Sorry the beginning is slow, expositions are important to me, haha.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Overture**

Hearing the blood curdling wail of his archaic alarm clock, Dean's eyes fluttered open with a start. Without a single moment's thought, he could feel his hand gravitate to the obnoxious device, throwing itself onto the rough surface and searching for the godforsaken off button. As his fingers wandered around helplessly, the young man shifted atop of his bed, the soft sheets that enveloped him comfortably suddenly turning into a treacherous death trap as he felt his legs tangle themselves in the tricky fabric. He rolled around for a few minutes, eyes shut tight again and alarm clock still singing the song of its murderous people, when the machine finally stopped. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, slightly confused when he finally worked up the will to dare look at the face of his savior.

"Dean, get up." His brother commanded sternly while slinging a single strap of his backpack over his shoulder, letting the rest of the baggage dangle on his side, like most teenagers seemed to do these days. "We're going to be late," Sam started. "Again." With a slightly annoyed, albeit loving huff, Dean hoisted himself up with his toned arms and sat at the edge of his bed, separating his extremities from the mess he had gotten himself coiled in. It was slightly embarrassing at this point, being eighteen and a senior at one of the most prestigious fine arts academies in the country but having to count on your kid brother to help raise you from the dead each morning, but Dean didn't seem to care. "Yeah, yeah Sammy. It's a new year, but nothing's changed. You still got that stick up your ass, and I'm still in no rush to throw us back into those hell holes." The older sibling joked, quickly rushing over to the restroom to both change and go through his morning routine.

It didn't take very long for the young man to go through the motions, brushing his teeth in an almost violent manner and sprinting into the shower, the warm water trickling down his built stature. Before he could let his mind stray from over-drive mode, he threw on his usual attire- A navy blue denim jacket over a loose button up, straight jeans and casual shoes- and headed to the door, gesturing toward his younger brother to follow suit with a simple tilt of the head. "Come on, Sammy." He started, a devious smile crossing his features. "We're..." Dean mimicked Sam's infamous 'bitch face', "_going to be late._"

* * *

The two Winchesters hopped into Dean's beloved Chevy Impala, its rims scintillating in the harsh sunlight and its paint looking crisp and new. It was interesting having to get his ass into gear after an entire summer of bumming around, but now that school was starting again, he'd have to play the role of soccer-dad...er, brother. Whatever the case was, he had to conform to a goddamned schedule again, and man, he would be lying if he said he was _exhilarated _to do so. It was as follows; Dean gets up, he gets nagged by Sammy for oversleeping, he drops the little dweeb off at his fancy technical high school while he indignantly rides over to the fine arts academy, where he would spend the rest of his day with a bunch of stuck up pricks who somehow convinced themselves that they'd actually get somewhere in life with their half baked "talent". Now, there were a few people at the academy that Dean could tolerate, but overall, he could hardly stand to breathe the same air as them. His parents, John and Mary Winchester, struck him a hell of a bargain his freshman year.

"_Now Dean, you have a gift,_" He remembered his mother coaxing him into the topic at dinner that fated night, her eyes lighting up as she continued to speak. "_and it would be a shame if no one ever got to see it._" John was sitting across from him at the time, his dark brown hair ruffled up in a state of obvious disorient. He'd propped an elbow onto the solid ebony table, a sigh escaping his lips as he searched for the proper words to persuade his thick headed son to make the right decision. "_You're not dumb_." The older man started bluntly, his gaze narrowing in on the adolescent. "_And you put violinists who have been playing for twice as long as you to shame. How about this_," He shifted his weight onto his legs now, making a sure stride toward the curtains shielding the windows right beside the driveway. He lifted a hand to remove the thick piece of fabric to the side, revealing the sleek Chevy Impala in all of its glory, just perching itself onto the drive way as if it were giving them all the show of a life time. "_You enroll in the academy, and the Impala is yours as soon as you get your license-_" He began, watching his son light up immediately as he eyed the Impala with some twisted kind of lust. "_But after that, you have to stay on top of your class, or you're going to be rolling around in your mom's neon yellow Toyota. Am I clear?_" And even now, Dean still cringes every time he would recall that idiotic moment when he winked and enthusiastically said, "_Yes, sir; Just call me valedictorian."_

* * *

There were just a few minor complications that went with that brilliant idea; Firstly, Dean was not exactly what one would call the "school type". Sure, he was intelligent in his own respects, but when it came to forcing himself to buckle down and soak in the intangible crap the system shoves down all of the students' throats on a daily basis, Dean had to undergo dramatic changes. It was nearly impossible to evolve from barely grasping the concept of studying to studying practically every day, but as fate would have it, the tenacious young man succeeded in his endeavors- Sometimes. John and Mary weren't around nearly as much anymore, John now playing the part of the "trucker dad" and his mother taking on the graveyard shift at the hospital. The distance between the parents not only weighed on their own relationship, but it also sank the entire livelihood of their house. It was hard for Sam to have to adjust to the absence, and it was even harder on Dean to have to feel the need to compensate for all of their familial shortcomings. It always went something like this: "_Dad's only home for a single afternoon a month? Well that's okay Sammy, we can go to that museum you really like_." "_You haven't seen mom in a week? Maybe we should go catch a movie_." "_Dad came home smashed again? Go to your room, I'll make sure he sobers up before he hits the road again..." _

The weight that Dean bore on his shoulders was about an ounce away from crushing him under its immense proportions. He felt the need to be the perfect brother, mother, father, student, and god forbid _boyfriend _when his brief flings called for it. (Which they often did if the girl was persistent enough) He would've taken it all in stride, if it weren't for the main obstacle standing in his way: Castiel Novak. Now, Dean had never seen the little shit in person, but it was senior year; if his graduating class wasn't talking it up about who was valedictorian before, they certainly were now. It had always been a constant duel between him and the mystery man, starting from sophomore year when he first transferred into the Academy. He would be at the top for one grading period, and then miraculously Castiel would trump him the next. John would stumble into the house eventually, making a bee line to the computer where he would check Dean's rank online; (He never felt that it was necessary to do the same for Sammy, as he would undoubtedly hold his position as if malicious demons from hell itself safeguarded him from any offenders- And they definitely would be demons, because angels just couldn't get the animosity quite right) If he was still at the top, he'd shut the machine off and plop down on the couch, usually in the company of many, many beers at his disposal. If he fell behind, Dean's precious baby would go missing until the next time the drunkard had solid evidence that the poor boy busted his ass off again. It was all too depressing for Dean to handle, really; You can take away his leisure, his childhood, and his sanity, but you could _not _take away his baby. It simply made his life that much harder to deal with; And so the unadulterated hatred for Castiel goddamned Novak brewed on.

* * *

"Jo, this isn't really my thing." Dean argued, the jubilant, blonde haired girl beside him leading him to the gym by his wrist, her firm yet dainty fingers tightening after he spoke. "Shut it, Dean. Nothing is your 'thing'. It's senior year, and you're not graduating having never gone to a pep rally. Besides, it's the first day. Try to enjoy it." She said with a tender smile that starkly contrasted the manner in which she aggressively plowed through the plethora of students in their way. "Not true, Jo. My 'things' include everything that's not this high school." That quickly earned him a jab in the ribs, the pain radiating through his body. "Ow," "Just come on."

"But seriously, what's the point of going? We could always skip it and head down to the diner to chow down on some grub. Sounds like a great plan, if I do say so myself."

"Quit tooting your own horn for one second and deal with it. You only suggested the Roadhouse because we get an employee discount," Jo retorted, laughing at how ridiculously hard the boy was trying to get out of going to the pep rally. "I heard Castiel will be opening for the band,"

"Castiel-the-son-of-a-bitch Castiel?" Dean questioned dubiously, his eyes widening and his blood pressure rising exponentially at the mere mention of the cursed name. God, he couldn't even stand the way it sounded rolling off his tongue. Who names their kid that? His parents obviously must have been those strange hippie folk that tripped on way too much acid.

"Yes, that one." Jo laughed, fully cognizant of what she was doing to persuade her friend of many years into the gym. She was beautiful, her fair tresses falling down onto her shoulders in elegant semi-waves, not to mention determined and strong willed. Dean enjoyed her company, but at times like these, her assertive attributes never failed to sway him into ways he never thought he'd bend toward, such was the case when Dean suddenly took the lead, pulling Jo through the remainder of the crowd and frantically searching for an empty space on the bleachers to sit on.

"Someone's excited. Do you have a man crush on Mr. Valedictorian?" She teased, not making any attempt at concealing her ever-widening smile.

"I don't think you could call it a crush, more like self confidence. Of course I think I'm drop dead sexy and admirable. Who wouldn't?"

Dean spotted a small group of their friends near the first few rows of bleachers. Ash, Chuck, and Lisa waved the dynamic duo over as soon as eye contact was made. It didn't take long for them to hustle to the compact area, Dean barely having time to settle himself into the hard seat when there was an irritating screeching noise filling the room. He clenched his jaw slightly, his foot tapping against the surface beneath him as he became increasingly impatient.

"Ladies and gentlemen of LAFA, welcome back! We hope you all had a very fun-filled, safe summer with your family and friends, and we're excited to see your shining faces in our facility again!" The announcer began, sounding much too cheesy and overly zealous for Dean's taste. A snort of discontentment escaped him. "For some of you, this is your first year here at the Lawrence Academy of Fine Arts, and for others this is your second, third, or even last year! No matter how long your stay here has been, we will all continue to push you towards the paths of success to the best of our ability. Master your own fate, Angels! Without further adieu, we'll start our first annual pep rally with a performance from the talented Castiel Novak. Round of applause, everyone!"

* * *

The gym sparked with life, applause coming from every direction. Dean's eyes scanned the room vehemently, his chest burning with an unrestrained rage. _Okay, looking for a chubby, pimply kid with huge glasses and a butt chin. He has to have a butt chin, because all arrogant sons of bitches have a butt chi- _A lean figure emerged from the side doors of the gym, the male's face not quite within the vicinity of Dean's vision just yet. He wore a fitting white dress shirt underneath his black suit jacket that fell over his shoulders comfortably, his pants properly ironed, shoes spotless, and his silk tie slightly askew. The clothing contoured his body a little too well, the masculine curves accentuated nicely as he continued his confident stride toward the center of the gym, his intricately crafted violin and bow in hand. _Scratch that... not chubby. Not chubby at all_.

Dean reclined slightly, his brows beginning to furrow. Castiel finally arrived at his destination, lifting his head toward the slew of people and revealing the gorgeous, crystalline blue eyes that made most of the female portion of the population practically tremble with sheer shock and awe. They were astonishingly bright, the artificial lighting striking the mystical orbs in such a way that it seemed as though they produced their own source of illuination. Dean hadn't missed this impressive display, especially not at the vantage point where he was residing. Castiel positioned himself accordingly, raised his bow, and let loose sounds that Dean never fathomed were humanly possible of being produced.

It was as if the gods themselves had descended upon them there in that crowded, musty gym as soon as the other boy led the bow onto the violin's enticing strings, the audience immediately captured and forcibly thrown into a hidden dimension of the mind. They were transported to a romantically-tinged valley, the air heavy with emotions and life, the gentle streams flooding onto the dewy blades of grass. It was almost suffocating how the notes reverberated off of every surface of the room, bouncing from object to object, thoroughly traveling from one ear to the next, mapping out all of the routes in a person's psyche as it unraveled each person's individual soul. Dean's chest tightened, a pit forming at the bottom of his stomach when he realized he'd been staring at Castiel so intently, he managed to forget everything; Where he was, who he was, and whatever problems that plagued his mind before hearing the sweet music that healed him so effortlessly. Castiel's expression was so focused, so intent on maintaining the new world that he'd created, that when the final note was played, Dean could have sworn he saw a faint hint of melancholy cross the student's features as he relaxed himself again.

_Not pimply, no glasses... but he has a butt chin. And a shit ton of talent. _

Dean let out a groan, inaudible through the loud applause that was coming from his fellow classmates. Jo looked glanced back at him as if to ask what his thoughts were, to which he shut his eyes and simple mouthed the word "fuck".

He couldn't pay attention to anything else after that performance. The school's mascot, an angel, leaped out and pulled its usual stunts, the band started playing, the cheerleaders started to do their routine, and all Dean could think about was how borderline impossible it would be to 1-up that son-of-a-bitch. So what if he was good looking, gifted, and smart? It didn't necessarily mean that Dean's out of the game, it just meant that he has a better idea of the bastard he's up against. He had to have an Achilles' heel. He simply had to.

* * *

Dean walked into his last class of the day, his cell phone clutched securely in his hands as he texted his angst away.

**Received: Dean**

**Sent: Jo**

_Cheer up, Deano_

**Received: Jo**

**Sent: Dean**

_I just found out I'm up against new age Jesus and you're telling me to cheer up?_

Frustrated, Dean thrusted the device into the front pocket of his jeans as he absentmindedly grabbed a seat at the front of the room, having come to terms with the fact that he ought to crack down harder than he ever has in the past if he was going to graduate as valedictorian. He refused to settle for less.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he placed his bag down and dug for a pen. Fruitless and even more irascible, he turned toward the student beside him and began to spew words like verbal diarrhea. "Hey, do you have an extra pen? Sorry, I don't usually do this or anythi-" He stopped right in the middle of his sentence, taking in the familiar blue eyes that he'd seen what felt like ages ago. "Castiel."

"I apologize, I don't believe I'm familiar with you. Have we met before?" Castiel asked in a low, gruff voice, his face vaguely quizzical as he carefully examined his new conversational partner.

_Shit, he doesn't even sound the way I thought he would. _"Dean Winchester."

"Ah," He remarked plainly, not minding the fact that Dean had blatantly ignored his inquiry. "It's nice to finally meet you, Dean Winchester."

"You too, Cas." Dean replied with a smirk playing at his lips, shortening the mouthful of a name to one concise syllable. "It's going to be an interesting year."

"Perhaps."

* * *

**Author's Note**: We meet again. So what do you guys think? Please, please, pleaaase review so I know whether I'm going to continue this or not. I have a ton of crazy plot ideas in mind, and I'd love to put them into action, but writing is so time consuming that I'd only do it if I knew it was truly worth putting the time and effort into. I hope this was sufficient as a first chapter! I'm feeling very rusty. Thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me. :)


	2. Cadence

**Hell's Interlude**

**Disclaimer**: All characters, unless otherwise stated, in this fanfiction are not mine, and belong to their rightful owners. This is non-profit.

**Overall rating**: M (Vulgar/triggering material, sexual relations, angst, and strong language)

**This chapter's rating**:PG13 (Mild language)

**Author's note**: Greetings! Before we get this going, special thanks go to _Kohananinja _and _EMSmith _for leaving a review on the last chapter, and an obnoxiously bright smile for anyone who favorited/followed the story, since that of course basically made my day. Sorry for the length of the chapter, but I expect most to be 1-2k words long since if I try to push out any more while balancing my workload at school, my head might pop. I promise I'm trying my best. Anyways! Let's get this show on the road.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Cadence**

Cas pushed back his seat, leaning over to the side to retrieve his bag. Dean watched his actions, genuinely intrigued at how graceful his movements were as he rummaged for only a few brief moments before discovering a black, silver lined pen. He held it out to his new acquaintance, an unnatural, forced smile uplifting his otherwise stoic features. "Will this pen do?"

"Yeah, thanks." Dean replied, pursing his plump lips as he reached for the utensil with a great deal of hesitation. _Just met the kid and I already owe him one. Great. _"So uh," Dean began, clutching the pen in his hand before quickly turning away, averting any further eye contact. "How long have you been playing? You seemed to know what you were doing,"

"I assume you're referring to the violin. I've been playing since I was about four, if I'm not mistaken," The boy answered, his voice as unnecessarily rough and deep as ever. Dean couldn't help but contemplate whether he actually sounded like that, or if he was just using that raspy, growl-like quality as an intimidation method. Either way, he'd rather choke on ninety pounds of trash before he'd be willing to admit that it was working on him. No way in hell.

"That's..." He desperately rattled his mind for an adjective that would best suit his cause, mentally tripping over every hurdle that came his way. _Not 'cool', that makes it seem like I'm too interested. Gotta stay nonchalant... but I can't say 'okay', because that doesn't even make sense. Would the word- _"unimpressive work?" He unintentionally blabbed out, completely unable to stop himself before the damage was already done. The raised inflection in the statement didn't seem to help much, the question mark implying that Dean had the remarkably imbecilic nerve to expect _more _from this potentially pissed off stranger.

Castiel's expression did not budge, his bright, sapphire blue eyes guarding whatever emotions that may or may not have been there as a result of Dean's daring commentary. "A part of me wants to apologize for not meeting your criteria of 'impressive work', but frankly, I don't think you have the right to demean me."

Dean threw his palms upward in a defensive manner, appalled at how quickly the conversation took a turn for the worse, and even annoyed at how Cas instinctively resorted to being an asshole for an honest mishap. "Hey; Take it easy. You don't gotta be so touchy. I didn't mean it like tha-"

There was a gust of wind that entered the classroom, followed by a clank of metal and footsteps.

"Afternoon, class." An older man greeted in an endearing English accent that accompanied a mischievous smile, the corners of his mouth curling upward like a chesire cat that was up to no good. He walked to the front of the room, removing his dark overcoat and draping it atop of a chair positioned in front of his slim computer screen. The man let out a boisterous yawn while he strode toward the white board, removing the cap from a red expo marker and writing out the letters of his name in large, cursive font. "I'm Professor Crowley. Welcome to AP Music Theory. It's nice to meet you, yada yada, let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

Rubbing the back of his neck as he drifted back and forth from each side of the room to the other, he made sure to appear as disinterested as he reasonably could without losing his chosen career. "For those of you who have had me before, like poor Cassie here," He said, laughing a bit as he made eye contact with the static youth. That drew out a sneer from Dean, and he could only hope that his peripheral was playing tricks on him when he thought he saw Cas glare daggers into his skin. "You know how I run my classroom. For you unfortunate souls who haven't had the pleasure, rules of thumb: Call me Crowley, and if you stay out of my hair, I'll stay out of yours. Capisce?"

The resounding silence that encompassed the room was broken by a loud clap, Professor Crowley too amused at his students' discomfort for his own good. "Excellent! Now, most of your teachers are going to be doing silly get-to-know-you games for the first few days, and I'm here to tell you that life isn't all that fun. Where you're sitting is where you will sit for the rest of the year, and the person to your left is your new project partner. Say hello."

Dean felt his liver shrivel up into oblivion, his throat closing and the floor beneath his feet practically crumbling as the gravity of the words struck him like a fully loaded freight train. Realizing that Castiel was the only other person in the front row, he immediately resorted to grabbing the phone out of his pocket, his fingers flying onto the keys while he held the small device near his lap.

* * *

**Received: Jo**

**Sent: Dean**

_Jesus is my moody project partner. I'm screwed._

**Received: Dean**

**Sent: Jo**

_Castiel?_

**Received: Jo**

**Sent: Dean**

_Yeah. we started off on the wrong foot _

**Received: Dean**

**Sent: Jo**

_Nothing I can do about it from here Dean. Tell me about it at work tonight._

* * *

Dean ran a hand through his hair, occasionally tuning in and out of the instructions being given by his new professor. "Music is about creation, collaboration, and refinement. Not to mention the whole emotional aspect of it, but that's another topic for another day. You are to compose a piece with your partner that accurately depicts your ideal future, entirely instrumental, and blended together into one composition. This is one piece, I repeat, one. Piece." Crowley spoke emphatically, exaggeratedly narrowing his eyes at Cas, as if his prior knowledge of how the boy handled his assignments influenced the overly dramatic display. "Due Friday. The rest of the period is yours. I trust that this will take some time outside of class to get done, so do what you need to do."

As the instructor took his seat and turned his back toward the class, Dean resigned to the fact that if he wanted to pass the first assignment, he had to bite the bullet and simply usher past his and Cas'... whatever the hell it was. He thumbed the sleek side of his phone case, the plastic material's smooth surface gliding underneath his fingers' rough skin. He then initiated a sort of rhythmic foot tapping for a while, followed by jaw clenching and finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Here," Dean murmured, shifting the whole of his body to face Cas as he keyed in his phone's password and handed it to him. "Add yourself as a contact. I'll text you or something later to work out the details."

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed intently, one hand occupied with a ballpoint pen and the other resting idly by his side, not reaching for the phone. "I..." The boy started, his head tilting to the side and the corners of his mouth curving into a discouraging frown.

Dean huffed, leaning forward with both hands and propping his elbows on top of his lap, his right hand still holding the device firmly. "Look, I get it. You don't like me, and I don't like you. I know giving me your number is the last thing on your to do list, but I think we can both agree that passing this class is more important than our petty little whatever."

This bolstered an even stronger reaction from Cas, his frown going from mild to just plain old upset.

"I never said I disliked you, Dean... and it's not about that. I was going to say that I don't have a phone."

"Oh... Uh," _Way to get on his good side. _"What about your iPad? The school issued them out to everyone, so maybe we could just use iMessage or something."

"I didn't request to get one."

"You're joking."

"No, I am not. I'm more tactile, so it would be pointless to have one. That, and I have no idea how to operate an iPad, if we're being honest here."

"We live in the twenty first century and you don't know how to use a basic Apple product?"

"Does that offend you?"

"What?" Dean asked, his mouth agape. _What's his deal? _

The bell rang abruptly, the rustling papers and sprinting students cutting their conversation short. Dean brought a hand up to his temple, closing his eyes and recollecting his wits as best as he could given his current impending sensations of fury.

"Forget it, Cas. Just- Are you free later? Maybe we could talk about this after I pick up my kid brother from school. We don't have enough class time to sort this out."

"I'm afraid I have an uncomfortable situation at home I have to tend to after school today."

"And what would that be?" Dean asked without thinking- He seemed to do that a lot around Castiel.

"My birthday."

* * *

"And then he said it was his _birthday_," Dean retold, angrily wringing a drenched rag over a bucket filled to the brim with soapy water. His dirty blonde hair almost appeared to be the darkest shade of brown in the dim lighting of the Roadhouse where he worked with Jo on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday evenings. The stench of cigarettes and alcohol stained the air as he dunked the rag back into the bucket, letting the fabric absorb all of its contents before whipping it back onto a table top again, sloshing it around like his life depended on it. "It's one thing to be a dick, but it's a whole 'nother thing to make _me _feel like the dick." He violently scrubbed at an invisible stain, the tendons in his arms bulging with each flick of the wrist and each amount of force exerted onto the undeserving hunk of wood that had to bear his frustrations. "I bet he gets off on that kind of shit, too. Schadenfreude or whatever," He mumbled mostly to himself.

After receiving no response, Dean looked over his shoulder to see Jo staring at him with an amused look. "What?"

"One, I'm amazed you just used a word that's bigger than two syllables. Two, you're going to break that table. And three, wow, I know you aren't exactly Shakespeare, but calling someone's hard work unimpressive and then saying you don't like them on the first day you meet them, which also happens to be their birthday? Bravo to you, Dean Winchester. You should get an award for that. Never heard of it."

"Shut it, Jo. It came out wrong, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. You should still say sorry to the guy, even though that word's not exactly in your vocabulary... not that Schadenfroob is, either."

"Schadenfreude," Dean corrected, removing the cloth from the table and chunking it back into the bin. "And it's not worth it."

"You feel like an asshole, right?"

"Right."

"Just give him one of your old phones, then. You know, the iPhone 4 you busted that no one wants to buy off of you. You bitched about how it was inconvenient that he didn't have a phone, so why not kill two birds with one stone? You get efficiency and good karma, he gets a peace offering. It's a win-win."

"No." He retorted immediately.

"Why not?"

"It's not that easy. He has to set up a contract and all of that good stuff, and he'll also think I'm trying to buy his friendship. Not happening."

"Got any better ideas?"

"...No."

"Then suck it up."

Dean bit his lower lip, dreading whatever was to come tomorrow. He felt like he was walking on egg shells every time he was around that guy, but there was something about him that seemed, well, _intriguing_, for lack of a better word. Maybe it was the way his breaths seemed hollow as he inhaled, or the way his smile looked pained as it crossed his face; Every phrase he spoke was buried between a spoken haiku or a rambling monologue, and Dean had yet to appreciate poetry or the inner clockwork of impassioned orators. He didn't know what to expect from Castiel, but it seemed like he had a long way ahead of him if he ever wanted to decipher the blue eyed, raven haired paradox.

* * *

**Author's note**: The tension I felt while writing Dean/Cas' dialogue made me worlds of uncomfortable. Hopefully Cas doesn't respond badly to the "peace offering"; There's some foreshadowing in this chapter that will be tied to future angst if this story is well received, so look out for that. :) I'm definitely going to throw in more characters as the plot/character development progresses, but for now I'm focused on building on Dean/Cas for "good" reasons. As always, reviews are highly encouraged, but faves/follows are also very appreciated! 'Till next time.


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